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A sign above the barber's shop, just yards from the platform, said: "A 10-minute haircut for 1,000 yen". Seconds later, I found myself seated inside asking for a spootsu katto, Japanese hairdressing parlance for a grade-one, all over. In fewer than 10 minutes I was back on the platform, and in another two heading home on the train.

Glancing nervously at my reflection in the window, I realised I was an honorary member of the corporate army of men who divide their time between their desk and their futon, with ordinary pleasures - family, eating out, hobbies and, yes, haircuts - squeezed in as mere afterthoughts.

The pace at which Tokyoites lead their lives can make Londoners look positively slovenly. This, after all, is the land of the tea-break shoulder massage, the 7-minute lunch, 20-minute pub session -and 10-minute haircut.

The merchants of Osaka even take pride in what sociologists are calling time poverty: Go to bed early (and save electricity), eat quickly (and leave more time for work). Though it has yet to catch on in their city, Osakans would appreciate the chance of a trim on the hoof. One research institute (apparently with bags of time on its hands) says they are the world's fastest walkers, clocking an average of 1.6 meters a second.

Electronic signs at pedestrian crossings count down the seconds until it is safe to cross the street. Thirty seconds and they can jiggle into pole position at the side of the road; 90 seconds and they have time to light a cigarette or send a text message, or both.

Appointments are kept, even among close friends, and meetings scheduled to start at 1pm and end at 2pm generally do just that. And what Londoners wouldn't give for a rail service as punctual as that of Tokyo, Osaka, Nagoya, Yokohama, or any other Japanese city.

But life hasn't always been so frantic. The Japan of 300 years ago was, by all accounts, a far more leisurely place, where samurai warriors regularly took time off from their official duties to study and perfect their calligraphy.

The turning point came in the second half of the 19th century, when the Meiji rulers demanded sacrifices be made to transform Japan into a "rich country with a strong army".

The strong army was formed, and met with disaster 60 years ago, but when Japan emerged from the devastation of the second world war the dedication needed to rebuild its shattered economy was already in place. That mentality has survived the economic slump, but at a price.

Hundreds, some say thousands, of people die every year from karoshi - death through overwork. The rise in juvenile crime is blamed, in part, on the lack of quality time workaholic Japanese fathers spend with their children. Divorces in middle age are on the increase as couples, forced to lead separate lives for decades, are thrust together in retirement and find they are living with strangers.

The government is slowly waking up to the social crisis in its midst. It has juggled the dates of public holidays to allow people to take long weekends, and encourages workers to take all of their annual leave, rather than just half, as is often the case.

But changing the habits of a lifetime will - no irony intended - take time. An official poster campaign suggesting that fathers who neglected their families were wimps was met with derision from men who said the message should be directed instead at their intransigent bosses.

The catch-all explanation favoured by some - that the Japanese just don't know how to relax - will surprise anyone who has spent time in a Japanese home. Goyukkuri - the Japanese for take your time - is a common refrain at my in-laws' in Osaka and, I would venture, in countless other households.

But it is a phrase that has yet to find a place in the workplace. That's a shame because, as my 10-minute haircut proves, in the service sector at least, there are some things that just shouldn't be rushed.